


Battle Plans (for the Best Kind of War)

by amusewithaview



Series: Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Kink Meme, Mild D/S undertones, Voice Kink, female character left deliberately vague but meant to be read as femme!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always knows, even as it starts, that it is just a dream, that this will never happen in her waking life.  She knows, and yet she doesn’t dread the dreaming.  Maybe because she knows this is all she will ever have of him, all he will ever give her.</p><p>Maybe because the dreams are worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Plans (for the Best Kind of War)

**Author's Note:**

> Link to prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=214718#t214718
> 
> This is about 1,500 words of voice!kinky fun, *headdesk* because apparently this is what I do, post-finals: write fic.

She always knows, even as it starts, that it is just a dream, that this will never happen in her waking life. She knows, and yet she doesn’t dread the dreaming. Maybe because she knows this is all she will ever have of him, all he will ever give her.

Maybe because the dreams are worth it.

And so she goes about her routine each night, never entirely sure when the dreams will come and not quite _anticipating_ them, but never troubled by them, either. She has started to get a sense for when it will happen: after a particularly long, frustrating day, or when she’s been feeling uncommonly lonely, for all that she has friends and neighbors, and sometimes – sometimes it seems they come completely out of the blue, for no real reason at all.

It’s been a good day, today, so she’s not really expecting a visit from her dream tonight. So when she cleans her teeth, locks her door, and slips into bed, all she’s really looking forward to is a good eight hours of uninterrupted rest before morning, and her responsibilities, call her from her bed.

So, when she finds herself in a dimly lit room, sitting before a warm fire, she’s a bit surprised, but by no means disappointed. The dreams always start the same: her sitting here, enjoying the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cool stone beneath her feet, some manner of crafting project in her hands and a simple shift covering her body. She sits and knits, or crochets, or reads – though she never finishes her work, or recalls what she read – until she hears the soft clicking of the door latch as it opens and closes.

She stills, waiting, while the soft tread of his boots comes closer and closer until Thorin Oakenshield stands a little to the side of her chair, staring down at her. She’s always surprised anew at how _handsome_ he is, how strong: his shoulders much wider than hers, his body thickened by forge work, his hands calloused from the same. His hands, which are clenched rather tightly, in fact. She glances up immediately to his face, finding him staring back, slate-blue eyes so intense that he’s almost frowning at her.

So, it’s going to be one of _those_ dreams.

“Long day?” she asks, voice a little breathy already because she's pretty sure she knows what’s coming.

“The Council pushes me to find a wife,” he replies, voice low and deceptively calm. He reaches out slowly and takes her book from her lap, dropping it onto the little table beside her chair without ever once taking his eyes off her. “They do not seem to hear my reasons for refusing,” he continues, taking her hand and gently helping her to her feet, “perhaps they will hear yours.”

“Well,” she replies, “I would be happy to come to Council with you some – ”

He jerks her forward, into his chest, and bends his head down to murmur directly into her ear: “I do not want a reasoned argument, _kibilel-lagab_ , I want you screaming my name so the very _mountain_ rings with the sound.”

“Th-Thorin!” she gasps.

He chuckles, and the feel of it against her ear makes a shiver ripple down her back, a reaction that only makes his grip on her hips tighten, and draw her closer. “Oh, _âzyungel_ ,” he sighs, lowering his head just enough to press a quick kiss to her neck, “you can do better than _that_.”

Next thing she knows she’s over his shoulder, held in place by a broad hand on her thigh, very _high_ on her thigh. “Thorin!” she exclaims again, this time louder and certainly more indignant.

This time he laughs outright, just before slinging her down onto their bed. She scowls up at him, but it’s hard to keep any sort of mad – even pretend mad, such as this – on her face when he’s smiling like that. She watches, a little surprised, and _definitely_ appreciative, as he swiftly divests himself of his outer coat, tunic, breeches, and…everything, really. He barely gives her a moment to appreciate the sight before he’s climbing onto the bed after her, hands gently spreading her thighs a bit so he can drop into the space between them. He grabs her wrists and pins them to either side of her head, lowering himself so that the majority of his weight is settled on her, enough that budging him – though why would she want to? – would be difficult, though not impossible.

She can feel the length of him pressed up against her, hot and hard through the thin silk of her shift. It makes her want to press up, or draw her knees higher so she can cant her hips against him.

Instead she focuses on his face and then cannot help but laugh.

He quirks a brow, “What is so amusing, _mizimel?_ ”

“You look as though you’re planning an attack!”

Thorin’s smile is so wolfish she cannot help but gulp. “Is that so? Well, then. Would you like to hear my battle plans, _âzyungel?_ They are detailed and,” he rocks his hips against hers in a slow roll, “ _very_ thorough.”

“I – ah,” she swallows convulsively, can feel a flush spreading down her throat and chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, grinning and starting to rock against her, steady and still so slow! The smile drops off his face a moment later, though, and she feels her skin break out into goosebumps as his eyes, black but for a thin ring of blue around the outside, lock with hers. “This is my first step, _âzyungel_ ,” he tells her, never ceasing the roll of his hips against hers, “just _this_ , until I can feel that you are ready for more.”

“H-how will you know?”

“When I feel your wetness christening my cock,” he replies, punctuating his sentence with a slightly firmer thrust that makes her breath catch in her throat. “I can already feel your heat, but every master knows you must stoke the forge before you start your true work. You are my _kidhuzel_ , and you melt so sweetly for me: you must be liquid before my next advance.”

This, this slow seduction with words is new to the dream: she can already feel moisture gathering at her core. She cannot help but thank every god she can think of that her shift is thin, and she wears no underclothes, because she’s not sure how much of this she can take.

Still, she cannot help but ask: “Next advance?”

For the first time, his gaze leaves hers, lowering to her breasts. Though she is covered, it doesn’t seem to be much of an impediment: Thorin licks his lips as if he can already taste her skin. She feels her nipples harden under his gaze, becoming sensitized so that every movement of his hips, every tug of it on her shift, causes the silk to rasp across those tender peaks.

She shudders, breath starting to come faster.

“I will taste you, _âzyungel_ ,” and his voice has grown rougher, a darker tone entering it, though his movements remain steady. “I will keep my mouth upon your flesh until what is rose darkens to ruby, till the lightest touch leaves you shivering.”

“ _Thorin._ ” God, it’s starting to feel like there’s a river running between her legs. She’s not sure if she wants him to stop talking and start _touching_ , or keep up this litany. Though there’s a small, dark part of her that can’t help but think that if all his fights were this well planned, the Battle of the Five Armies would have been over in minutes.

“I can feel you growing hotter, my _kidhuzel_ , and I can feel you melting,” he says, and he’s smiling again, but it looks disturbingly similar to the toothy grin a warg offers before it jumps on its prey. He releases her wrists to push himself up, kneeling on the bed between her spread legs. For a moment he just stares and she can feel his gaze like an actual touch as it traces her face, her breasts, and down further to where she so desperately wants his touch.

“Touching now?” she cannot help but ask, a tad plaintively.

He leans forward, skimming his hands up her body, starting at her thighs so he can draw her shift up and off. She obligingly arches her back, then sits up a little so he can whisk it over her head. She didn’t think his eyes could get any darker, but when he looks upon her naked form, something on his face _shifts_ just the slightest bit, and it makes her tremble.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice so rough now that it’s almost a growl. Then he moves forward, covering her with his body again. He has slipped his fingers beneath her back, this time, lifting her chest a little. When she raises her arms, about to thread her fingers through his thick hair, he _does_ growl: a sharp, “ _No._ ”

“Thorin?”

“ _I_ will be doing the touching, this time, _âzyungel_.”

“And what should _I_ do?”

“ _Scream._ ”

\---

She wakes shaking with pleasure, aftershocks still zinging through her body and the sheets beneath her slick with the evidence of her gratification.

Many miles away, Thorin sits bolt upright, looks down at his _thoroughly_ messed sheets, and groans.

Mahal be praised that the dwarrows who do laundry are discrete, else Dis would never let him hear the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Kmeme prompt:
> 
> _"Because what fan wasn't shivering whenever Thorin spoke? Who wasn't affected by that deep baritone voice? And what fan didn't fantasize about Thorin's large hands roaming over their body as that baritone voice spoke deliciously sinful things into their ear? Who didn't wonder if his dick would be large like the rest of him and what the dick would feel like in them? I know you all had at least one fantasy about Thorin."_
> 
> I don't like second person/'reader' perspective, so this is 3rd person with a female character left deliberately vague. I had femme!Bilbo in mind when I wrote it, but feel free to picture whoever you want.
> 
> Comments or constructive critique (JFC I JUST WROTE 1,500 WORDS OF VOICE!KINK) are very welcome!


End file.
